Why Sherlock Should Never Read Fanfiction
by alltheteainchina
Summary: John Watson insisted Sherlock give a couple of fanfictions a try, as some were "quite good". What happens afterwards? Not what you expect. Humor with implied innuendo. PG-13! Non-Beta Read, snippet with light details. BBC Sherlock Mug violence.


_Author Notes: Ya know, I kinda really hate these. I don't own or profit from any story I write, nor the pictures. I'll take anything down I'm strangled to by the laws I don't clearly understand. Dear Sherlock and Watson, BBC and all of your creators. Please don't sue me. I wuva you like a chocoholic a-wuvs-a chocolate3!_ Xoxoxo Okay. I hope you enjoy this. *shrug* I like reviews. They're like candiesss. Some of them are bad and rotten but oooh the candiessss. Drop me a line. (Authoress leans forward over a desk, elbows on the surface, hands knotted together with a smug come-hither face.) I love knowing what your favourite part might be. You're kind of a mystery.

* * *

**Why Sherlock Holmes Should Never Read Fanfiction**

Sherlock opened the red laptop, sipping out of a standard white mug, smacking his lips as his tartan robed figure leaned forward to set the steaming cup down. The laptop roared to life, flashing light upon the usual curled back hair, brown and illustrious. Light eyes swept over the screen as long fingers tapped a few things. The dark of the room only illuminated by the LED display.

"Oh John, you and your 'passwords'."

In seconds the light danced and changed colors, as a mouse moved and clicked elsewhere, Sherlock's eyes narrowing and switching to the other side of the room where John Watson had fallen asleep on the couch. It was only a stir, and so Sherlock's attention sought to retain their original objective. Selecting a few bookmarks, Sherlock found the fanfiction John had been reading the day before, technically only a few hours ago. An opened mouth scoff and exhale out of his nose turned his face over at the slouching figure of the consulting doctor. There was quite a few "ElementaryLove" had favored. Said John Watson's hands were folded in his lap, over a dark blue blanket he'd brought from home, chest shuddering in deep sleep. The blond soldier had his head sunk into his chest, legs crossed at his feet, halfway off the chair..

"Lets see here.."

Sherlock's lower jaw jutted as his lips pressed in, finally finding the target literary pieces.

"Really? Slash? What's this.. lingo they use? PwP? Hmm."

Over time, the white mug dipped its 2nd cup of coffee down the consulting detective's throat, as blue eyes sped-read over the material. Occasionally, the man paused the quick perusals with a few sarcastic, questionable, disapproving looks or double takes at the text on screen.

"No. Not physically possible."

"The chances of John doing that are pretty slim- technically drugs would work if I think about it."

"Who writes this? I _do not_ make a pretty girl."

"...Moriarty? That's.. new."

"..Remind me never to meet any of these authors in a dark alley. Oh, look at me talking to myself!"

"Original character in the bathroom at the court house. Hello, Kitty."

"Oh for gods sake-! Who is endowed like that?! And appendages don't promise true proportions-"

* * *

A few hours later, and a few stories later..

A thoughtful hum smoothed into the sitting air of the flat of 221b Baker Street. A program window closed a list of several different fanfictions, including a few definitions for "fandom" writing. Several more lay open, starring the two of them.

"Mmm. I'm more of a top actually."

The clacking of keys or Sherlock's mumbling did nothing towards waking the snoring Watson, growing further into his sleep during the midnight hours, the typing like white noise in the background.

* * *

The next morning, John was sipping out of the same white mug, looking at his computer. Sherlock waltzed in, dressed but lounging in his off-red robe.

"Where's Mrs. Hudson? I can't find her this morning, my toast is burnt."

"Hmm? Oh yes. She had an errand to run."

"It could have waited-"

"Sherlock."

John blinked at him incredulously, turning the laptop screen his way. John Watson was wearing a faded blue, black and grey flannel over jeans and boots. A glare first into his friend's dark almost blue eyes, and then at the screen.

"Sherlock what did you do last night?"

"I merely did as you suggested yesterday."

The detective put his hands behind his head, leaning back into the chair and closed his eyes.

"I read a few of those illicit-"

Two fingers did a quote flinch, before replacing behind his head.

"'Fanfictions from those so-called club members."

Watson turned his head and sagged his shoulders a little, staring out the window, blinking quickly.

"Sherlock. You left reviews under my **reading** account name, and NOW I'm getting threats via private messaging."

John exasperatedly motioned at the screen, nodding his head with an expression of look-what-you-did.

"So. Turn it off."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to inhale slightly.

"That's not the point Sherlock. You attacked everything- okay, mostly everything- in what you called a literary waste needing a delete and a full rewrite!"

Sherlock's hands were folded in his lap, lifting an eyebrow, shrugging.

"I hardly think a few accurate sentences in a 10 chapter fantasy deserves any less than a full review stating the obvious. Clearly-"

Sherlock lazily gestured a hand, pointing at the review above the rants of defense.

"I'm the only one capable of giving precise and constructive criticism aside from obsessed libido-driven one liners."

Watson pressed his right hand to his face and slid it down.

"You know sometimes Sherlock, I really hate you."

"No, you don't. Also, _buymemilk_ is a terrible password Watson."

The sound of paper being snapped open cut the conversation short, as Sherlock adjusted the newspaper and started reading, crossing his legs, ending the argument.

Watson sighed, shaking his head, preparing to write and apologize to soften the collateral damage that followed this high functioning sociopath everywhere. Still, the reply he made _was _pretty good, not that Watson would ever let _him_ know it.

"ElementaryLove indeed."

"Hey, that's a good name. It took me hours to think up that one."

"What makes you think that's a good name?"

"And just what would you have me use Sherlock? Oh, I know! _Consulting Assistant to the GREAT Sherlock Holmes_? Not going to happen."

"Ridiculous. Consulting Assistant would do just fine."

"See that' s the problem with you-"

"I can't hear you over the sound of my reading at the moment."

The paper snapped a few times.. not that the argument concluded.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head fondly as it carried outside to where she was opening the door to come home.

"Those boys.. I can't leave them alone for 5 minutes without them play-fighting.. or whatever its called now."

Right then, a white mug flew out of the window, crashing into the street, shattering into the gutter with, thankfully, no one harmed. Both men looked down to check, squeezing next to each other as Mrs. Hudson retreated behind a closed green door.

"You broke my favourite mug!"

"...It was an accident."

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson!"

They both winced and brought themselves back into the room as a high pitched voice carried up the stairs through their open door and out into the street below. A spitfire of an older woman dropped the bag of groceries on the table, wearing a dark green dress and white scarf.

"But it was his fault."

"Seriously. You're going to pin this on me, and its my mug, that **you** broke."

"Well if you hadn't brandished the thing-"

"..Is that fanfiction? Oh I used to love that back in the day."

Sherlock and Watson looked at each other uncomfortably.

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THE END


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